


The way light plays with shadows

by Coldwintersnight



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Dimension Cannon, Enemies to Lovers, Multi, Not much plot, Ok bit of plot now, POV Multiple, Reunion, Rose Tyler is a BAMF, Rose gets back to this universe around the same time, The Doctor is confused, confusion ensues, fair amount of talking about feelings, he's the doctor's prisoner on the TARDIS, not me, not yet anyway, poly doctor, poly everyone actually, the TARDIS loves rose, the master does not die at the end of series 3, there may be later but who knows?, this whole thing is my love letter to her, you can't take the master anywhere smh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28040487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldwintersnight/pseuds/Coldwintersnight
Summary: Rose returns to the Doctor's universe; to the Doctor's TARDIS specifically, to find that things haven't stayed quite as constant as she'd hoped.The Doctor has a new companion- at least she thinks that's what he is, though he doesn't feel like one, somehow. And when he starts kissing the Doctor, and the Doctor starts kissingback, that just complicates things further.Each answer seems to lead to more questions. No one knows exactly what they want, but there's no way they'll give up until they get it.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm), The Master (Simm)/Rose Tyler
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not the most popular ship but these bitches are my OT3. Rose and the Master are my two favourite doctor who characters and fics where they fall in love are my weakness but there are not enough of those so I thought I'd write my own. I warn you, this will be 5% stuff that makes sense and 95% pure self indulgence. Enjoy!

If anyone had seen her in that moment, they would have seen a light take form; a phantom come to life. To her it was the opposite: it was the walls of the TARDIS that shaped themselves from the fabric of a new universe, materialising around her. A puzzle of infinite pieces, creating a picture of home. She fell back onto the bed, knowing instinctively that that's where it would be. It was still lovingly made, the pink duvet otherwise unruffled. She hadn't usually made her bed in the mornings; the thrilling life they'd led did not really lend itself to such domesticity. It must have been the Doctor who had smoothed it down when she was no longer here to do it herself.

The room was so perfectly preserved, every detail the same as in her memory- from the positioning of the intricate cabinet to the photo of her and the Doctor which rested upon it- that she thought for a moment that that was where she was. Caught in a dream. Falling through her own mind. The light-headed, hollow-boned lurch she'd felt as she cracked the skin of the universe was the same surreal, floating sensation she sometimes feels before drifting to sleep. But she'd fallen further this time, dropping into a dimension far more wild and unpredictable than her own subconscious. She was where the Doctor was, and she could only hope that life outside the room had been as expertly preserved as within it.

She'd never expected to end up here, within the TARDIS itself. But the ship had seen her floundering in the space between worlds, and had reeled her back to shore. This was where she belonged. Out of all the worlds in all the universes, it was this room and this ship that called to her. A rush of welcome, and a longing that wasn't completely her's soaked into her, energizing after the exhaustion of dimension-hopping. Life: a life she'd lost and a life she was yet to find, drew her upwards and she took her first, tentative step into the corridor outside, seeking a particular vitality that was so new and so familiar.

Metal thrummed beneath her feet and the turn was exactly where she expected it to be, the catacomb of the TARDIS unchanged. That was good. Her room hadn't been relegated to a forgotten corner of its infinite design. The console room was mere steps away.

_What will I find there?_ she thought, one hand trailing along the rivets of the wall. _Will he be waiting for me?_

The TARDIS didn't answer, but the warmth of the metal against her skin was reassuring. So far the only inconsistency had been her. If the Doctor had changed at all, it would be to grow alongside her. A new Doctor for a new Rose. That was how it had always been. Their synchronicity bridged time, bridged dimensions.

The Doctor _was_ in the console room. His back was turned to her as he fiddled with something, but she could tell that he still had the same face. The same hair. The same agility as he danced across the controls. The same suit, even. But he was not alone.

A stranger was sprawled across the seats she used to sit on, head tilted towards the Doctor. Neither of them had noticed her yet. His appearance shocked her into a stunned silence even though she knew, on a logical level at least, that this was what she had expected. She'd never wanted him to travel alone. And she'd known long before their separation became real that he'd have to continue without her someday. That much was inevitable. The curse of the Time Lords. But beneath it all, beyond both reason and compassion, she couldn't help feeling betrayed. Betrayed by the passage of time; by the concept of change; by her futile, naive, _stupid_ hope that just this once, change would pass her by. Betrayed by the Doctor for living the life he had no choice but to lead.

It was all irrationality and insecurity. The jump to this dimension had opened up a whole new spectrum of uncertainty and if she indulged in it too much she'd find herself dealing in absolutes. But reality was rarely so simple. She had known all along that her return would never be all good- the distress of her goodbyes were testament to that- and it was equally fruitless to assume the worst. She didn't even know if he was staying, or just being dropped off somewhere. It was impossible for life on the TARDIS to seal itself up so quickly or so callously behind her. She'd still fit in here, albeit with a potential adjustment. One person couldn't keep her apart from the Doctor when the walls of universes had failed.

"So, where do you fancy going next?" The Doctor was speaking and it took a moment to come to terms with the fact that the words weren't for her anymore. They sounded different: amicable enough, but lacking the excitement that comes with showing off. 

The stranger pulled himself up to stand behind the Doctor and as she watched, still silent, still hidden, she realised that her discomfort went beyond jealousy. There was something off key about the scene before her that was completely outside herself. There was something wrong with the man; the way he held himself, arrogance radiating from him; the way his eyes followed the Doctor, focused and hungry. She caught another glimpse of his face and there was something hard about the way he smiled. Something cruel. He wasn't like her or Mickey or Sarah Jane or any of the company the Doctor usually kept. 

"I don't think we have to go anywhere." His voice sounded like she would have imagined it: too slick, somehow threatening though he didn't quite sound as if he was making a threat. More like an offer. "I think we can stay right here." His hands slipped around the Doctor's waist and Rose really would have intervened if she hadn't been so sure that the Doctor would brush him off himself. But he didn't seem to notice quite how disturbing the situation was. He leaned back into the other man's possessive embrace. When he turned his head there was a smile on his lips before they were kissed, and he leaned into that too. 

Rose's first instinct was to run, and she did not wait for a second one.

-

The clatter of footsteps reached the two Time Lords and the Doctor pulled reluctantly away. 

"What was that?"

The Master's hand traced the shapes of his face, his index finger eventually resting against his mouth, commanding silence. "I'll go have a look. You wait here."

The Doctor pushed his arm impatiently away. "As if I trust you to go alone."

"I'm sure it's just one of those robots you like tinkering with. Escaped again. I'll be fine, I'm sure."

"That was the least of my worries." He rolled his eyes and the Master had the audacity to look offended. "Sounded bigger than a robot anyway."

"Fine. You can come too, if you like. We'll probably find it quicker if we split up."

"Oh, there is no way-" the Doctor began, but the Master had dashed off and been swallowed by the curve of the corridor before he could finish articulating his obviously quite pitiful authority. "For Rassilon's sake…" 

-

Rose was back in the bedroom, curled fully clothed under the covers. She hadn't known where else to go, and this had always been her refuge. But she'd never had to hide from the Doctor before. Her head whirled and this time the betrayal seemed far more intoxicating. They'd never been exclusive as such, never even been a couple. She forgot that sometimes. But she'd been so sure. On that beach, when he'd said something that started with her name, she had allowed herself to believe, and that belief had never really left. She'd ridden it all the way here. Her eyes found the photo again, her frozen smile taunting her. They'd been so happy. Those days really had felt like they'd turn into forever. She reached over and flipped the frame face down.

The door eased open and she sat up hurriedly, fists clenched in the sheets. Despite the anger and apprehension coiling inside her, the thought of the Doctor seeing her again filled her with a wild excitement. 

It was not the Doctor who stepped through the door. The stranger pushed it shut behind him and reached down to click the lock into place, only to find that it had disappeared. "Seems she doesn't want me left alone with you," he murmured, one hand stroking the door jamb. "Now, why could that be, hm?"

Rose could only stare. Up close he looked even more out of place, the cunning in his eyes and the scornful twist of his lip unmistakable. There was nothing good in this man. She may have been afraid of him if she wasn't so distracted by a sudden, seething anger. "Who the hell are you? Get out!"

"Shhh." He had to lean against the door, blocking it with his body. "I just want to talk. So tell me: how did you like the show?"

"What show?" she hissed, mentally running through the items in her room that could be used as a weapon. If he came any closer she'd have no problem using her fists. She kicked the covers off her to be ready to escape, and found herself feeling more vulnerable than if she'd left them.

"Me and the Doctor." He looked disappointed. "Our kiss. I did that for you. Not impressed? I thought it was rather good. Oh!" He clicked his fingers. "Did you think you were being subtle hiding back there? I could feel you as soon as you got close. You have a truly _delightful_ mind. I'd love to explore it someday."

"Who the _hell_ do you think you are?" This kept getting more distorted, more nightmarish. Perhaps she was dreaming after all. 

"I don't need to ask the same of you, Rose Tyler."

Her eyes widened. "How do you know who I am?"

"I've seen pictures." He picked up the photo frame, clearly knowing what it was without having to look, and a shudder of disgust ran through her. _He's been in my room._ "He's far too sentimental, isn't he?" The picture dropped unceremoniously to the floor, Rose's instinctive gasp punctuated by the cracking of glass. "You must have made quite the impression. So difficult to get him to shut up about you…" He smiled wistfully. "But you don't need to hear about that. He was wrong, of course. You're nothing special. Just another human…" He stepped closer, hand reaching for her jaw, and she took the opportunity to lash out. Her knuckles caught his chin, the sting reassuring her of the accuracy of her blow. 

She rushed to the door, her hand reaching the handle before he caught her, one firm hand around each wrist. She struggled against him, managing to at least pull the door open as he dragged her back. "Doctor!" she yelled, panic stealing control of her voice so it sounded a lot less powerful than she'd hoped. She doubted he'd heard. She didn't even know where he was. The man kicked the door shut again before throwing her back onto the bed. She twisted round, preparing to defend herself, but he had taken up his position against the door again, gingerly touching the cut on his chin.

"Don't do that. It won't end well. There'll be time enough later, if you're up for it." He grinned a little. "For now, we're just going to talk. I'm very interested to find out how you got here. Last I heard, you were stuck in a parallel universe." Rose breathed heavily. The door remained obstinately shut; the Doctor remained obstinately elsewhere. She glared at the stranger, and he met her gaze coolly. "I can wait, you know. I led the Doctor on a spectacularly wild goose chase before doubling back. He won't find you. So we can stay here until you starve, if we have to. I assure you I can survive much longer than you can."

"I'm not telling you anything until you tell me who you are." She should have stopped earlier, she realised, as she saw his eyes light up. She should have stuck with not telling him anything full stop.

"We can do that. I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."

Rose glanced at the bulge in her sleeve which concealed the controls for the dimension cannon. It had been tempting her the whole time, itching against her wrist. But she didn't quite trust it. If she left now it may never lead her back. Hopelessness had admittedly clouded around her ever since she'd seen her Doctor in the arms of this _monster_ , but it hadn't penetrated deep enough to convince her to give up completely. Especially as everything warped around her, the situation becoming stranger and stranger. She had to understand before she let herself be reckless. Perhaps this would help with that. 

"Fine," she spat. "Who are you?"

His grin became wider. "I'm the Master."

"That doesn't tell me anything!" What had she expected? Ambiguity and heartlessness were all this was likely to lead to. So much for understanding.

"Tough. My turn. How did you get here?"

"Dimension cannon." The words without context were vague enough for comfort, just a fancy, sci-fi-esque title, and she had no intention of giving him context.

"What's that?"

"My turn." She couldn't help the slight rush of vindication. Anything to make this interrogation more bearable. "What species are you?"

"Time Lord." There was a smug superiority within his voice, something she would have expected from the species. If he was one. Which, obviously, he wasn't.

"No you're not." Counting on honesty would have been foolish, but this was such surface-level deceit that it was almost laughable.

"I'd let you feel my hearts if I didn't think you were going to attack me again."

"The Doctor's the last of the Time Lords. There is no one else. You think I don't know that?"

"He was wrong. It happens. If you stopped worshipping him you'd realise it happens quite a lot. Now shut up. What's a dimension cannon?"

"It's a… thing." She wasn't trying to annoy him- although it was a lovely side effect- she just wasn't sure how to describe it in scientific terms. "I don't know. It lets people travel through the cracks between universes."

"I already know _that_!" 

"Well I don't know how to explain it!" She probably should not have admitted that. "Why don't you just ask the Doctor?"

"Because if _he_ knew, _I'd_ know." He spoke slowly, as if explaining to a child. "Also that would mean finding him, which would be tedious right now, and I'm not letting you escape so easily. My turn-"

"Hold on! I didn't ask you anything."

"You just did."

"That doesn't count!"

"Who created the dimension cannon?"

"If you are a Time Lord, how did you escape the war?"

"You first."

"No!"

"Fine!" 

A stubborn silence fell upon them. The Master- if that really was his name- stared fixedly at his own reflection in his shoes and Rose glanced awkwardly around the room. God, where was the Doctor? Her heart continued to pound. The danger didn't feel immediate while they were both trapped in this peculiar game, but it was there. Simmering. Palpable. Her wrist felt heavy. She focused her attention on the weight, reminding herself that that was what mattered. She could not let him find the watch. If he did, she'd have to use it and neither of them would be very happy about that.

"There was a watch," he muttered suddenly, and she swore her heart stopped beating. "It altered my biology. I lost my memory." Her sigh of relief must have been audible but he didn't remark on it. "By the time I was myself again, the war was over. Alright?"

"Torchwood made it. On the parallel world."

"Torchwood?" He rolled the word around his mouth. "Should have known. Troublesome little bastards, aren't they?"

"Uhhh…" She ignored him. "How did you meet the Doctor?"

"We grew up together." He caught her shocked expression, and she tried to return to neutrality, lest he enjoy it too much. "Oh yes, I've known him far longer than you have." He moved on before she could speak. "What does it look like, then?"

She shook her head, still trying to process what he'd said. The only lifelong companion the Doctor could ever have. The exception to the rule, while she merely enforced it. She did not want to think about it, so she let his incessant curiosity distract her from her own. "Back on the parallel world, there's a big computer that controls dimension hopping. That's all it is." It wasn't a lie, exactly.

"You can't control it? Can't go back?"

"I don't want to go back." 

"That's not what I asked."

"Well, you shouldn't be able to ask anything. I haven't had my go yet."

"Fine, fine. What do you want to know?"

"Do you…" She swallowed, already regretting her insistence because now that he'd let her ask something, she'd have to do it, and the only questions that presented themselves were ones she did not want to know the answers to. But what she wanted to know, and what she felt she _had_ to know were two separate collections, and she would have to start working through the second one sometime. Her mind drifted back to the kiss she had stolen a glimpse of, or rather the kiss that had been performed for her benefit. If it had been a performance at all. That, she did not know, and did not want to, and that was probably why she asked. "Do you love the Doctor?"

His head relaxed against the wood of the door and he smiled slightly, his gaze fixed on some point behind her. "Ask something else."

"Didn't know we could skip questions."

"I could kill you right now." He spoke so lazily that it must have been deliberate. "Ask something else."

"Alright…" The question formed easily in her head, an obvious successor. It tasted putrid in her mouth. "Does… do you think…" She gave up. "Why does the Doctor stay with you?"

"You're asking if he loves me?" The Master laughed and any acclimatisation she'd undergone crumbled beneath the sound. She felt more out of place than ever. It was all so surreal, and yet so distinctly real that it made her head hurt. "How quaint. We're so much more complicated than you could ever understand. Oh, and I'll answer your next question too. Yes, you should leave before you find him, because he will not want you back."

"I-" His answer hadn't been as destructive as it could have been, though the last part bit into her. At least she did not really believe it. He was the last person she should be taking relationship advice from.

"One last question. Mine." He smiled again, showing so many teeth that it was practically a snarl. He sounded impatient, his voice clipped and harsh and she realised that the equality and cooperation she felt they'd been naturally building towards had been completely manufactured. This had been a game to him: not just the exchange of questions but _her_ , and the way he'd treated her. Coaxing answers from her with exchanges and peace and strategic surrenders. Now the game was over. "What is it you're so fascinated with on your wrist?"

The moment was now, if it was going to come at all. She wouldn't even need to pull her sleeve back; she knew where each button was. One second and she'd be gone. The TARDIS would fade away around her, and maybe it would reappear when she came back, and maybe it would not. Maybe it would never align so perfectly with her timeline again. She could not do it. Didn't even move to try. The Master was still watching her, eyes full of fire and arrogance and she thought of how pathetic she must look to him. She wondered if the woman he saw was weak enough to give in, or if he expected a fight. She swallowed, and her face fell into a perfect picture of dejection. "I'll show you, if you like." 

He nodded his affirmation and she took a step towards him, fumbling with her sleeve as she tried to pull it up. She hesitated, distracted by her exaggerated clumsiness. "Oh, _hurry up_." He strode towards her, reaching for her arm, and while his attention was focused on her wrist her foot kicked up to hit him squarely between his legs. He doubled over and that split second was all she needed to rush out into the corridor. She set off at a sprint, headed vaguely towards the console room though she could tell that the layout had changed again. She turned a corner at random, and collided with the warmth of the Doctor's chest.

She felt nothing but anonymous flesh and cloth at first, and jolted backwards, fearing that the Master had caught up with her. But when she looked up, those startled eyes had a warmth and kindness in them that could only be the Doctor's. She couldn't help but melt into him, clutching the back of his suit like a lifeline. As long as she held him, she could never be lost. He held her just as tightly, letting her collapse into him although he must have had overpowering doubts.

" _Rose?_ " he whispered, as if a sudden noise would shatter her image into fragments of imagination. "You can't be here…"

"But I am." Her voice was weak. She could hear the tears within it. She'd been brave for so long. It would be good to let go for once. "I came back."

"Oh, Rose…" he winced. "That's not possible."

"It _is_. Really. Look." She let go reluctantly, bringing her arm round so he could see the device strapped to it. "We made this thing. Sort of a dimension cannon. So I could come back." He inspected it, intrigued, scared, hardly daring to hope. His fingers ran across the display. "Careful. It's still active, for now."

His hand trailed off it, following the curve of her wrist until he found her hand. Closed his fingers around it. "You really did it… You're brilliant, you are. Come here." He pulled her back into his arms and she smiled into his neck, his touch so exhilarating that if he hadn't been holding her up she may have collapsed. For a moment, the Master and the kiss disappeared and all that existed was her and the Doctor and the rise and fall of each other's chests.

"Oh, don't tell me I missed the touching reunion. How disappointing." The safety that had cocooned her mind withered and fell away, and her heart sank with it, dropping into her stomach with a sickening lurch. The change in the Doctor was instantaneous, his eyes hard and furious. His arms left her as he moved to confront the Master, placing himself as a shield between them.

"You knew about this?"

"Of course. I've been taking care of her for you."

He whirled around to face Rose again, his expression softening. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Just…" She shook her head, hands fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. "I didn't expect…"

"He didn't hurt you?"

"Not really."

He relaxed a little, though the concern in his eyes didn't fade. "Good. That's good. How long have you been here?"

"I don't know. About an hour."

"Oh, of course…" His eyes widened. "The footsteps… That was you. You were so close. Didn't you see me?"

"I'm sure she saw enough." The Doctor froze, memories flitting past his mind and when he found the right one he seemed to deteriorate, crumpling in on himself. A man with the knowledge that a point had been reached, a point of no return and a crossroads all at the same time. Rose saw the conflict in the way his shoulders tensed and his wounded eyes met hers while his body tilted away. Torn between her and the Master: comfort or confrontation.

"Get out." He turned towards the Master, though he did not meet his eyes.

"And where exactly do you expect me to go?"

"I don't care. Just get out of my sight."

He shrugged and slunk away, though Rose remained on edge. It felt like he was still just around the corner. Maybe, if she stayed, he always would be. And if he wasn't it would feel like he was. She shuddered.

"Rose?" The Doctor's gentle hands were on her upper arms, barely touching her. There was a vacuum between them and it was keeping them apart. "I can explain. Please. Can we sit down and talk?"

She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "'Yeah… Suppose so." She stepped away, moving towards the console room. His footsteps echoed behind her, though she didn't look back. She sat on her usual seat, realising after a second that it was where he had sat. She was filling his space. But it had been hers before it had been his. She was not the outsider. Or maybe it had been his before hers, before they'd even left Gallifrey. Before she'd even been born.

He opted to lean against the console a few feet away, hands flat against the coral, anchoring himself. "I didn't know you were there."

"Yeah, I figured." She felt a spark of frustration in the clouds of misery within her, because it was a bit of a pathetic excuse, really. She wanted him to tell her that he loved her. That he _still_ loved her, and it had all been something of a misunderstanding. But perhaps that wasn't it at all and he was trying to placate her with things she already knew. He was hardly forthcoming and she didn't exactly blame him for that, because she didn't know where to start either, but she hadn't thought she'd have to. "Who is he then, the Master?" She couldn't quite say the name seriously; it was perhaps the most ridiculous part of this whole unreal affair. 

"He's… an old friend, though he's quite determined to be my enemy. Right now he's meant to be my prisoner."

" _Prisoner?_ " Out of all the possibilities, she'd never considered that. "That's what you do now? You take prisoners?"

"I had to." His voice had a low finality to it that she recognised. She'd heard it when he spoke of the Time War, or told an invading species that if they didn't leave _now_ , he'd ensure their extinction. "I had no choice."

"What happened?"

He took a long, deep breath and she could tell that whatever was coming was difficult to share. "What always happens. He had a plan to destroy Earth, except I couldn't stop him."

"Oh my _god_ … You mean-" She felt her skin turn to ice. The implications of what he'd said were unthinkable, but the thoughts came anyway: horrifying, dystopian images flowing behind her eyelids. Her planet in ruins while she sat oblivious in a parallel world, eating chips.

"No! I reversed it, in the end. Everyone's fine. But I couldn't let him go. Not this time. He'd gone too far. And I couldn't leave him on Earth because I didn't trust them not to hurt him. Or he them. I doubt they'd have been able to hold him long, anyway. The only safe place for him was the TARDIS."

It was all so _good_ , so _righteous_ , so _Doctory_. She had heard this self-sacrificial talk before, and seen him react to it, and she knew that what she had seen before was not that. He was holding back, out of protectiveness or shame, which were both very Doctory too, but it was futile right now, and really quite annoying, because he had promised her an explanation, and now he was giving her anything but. "Is that it?"

"What?"

"You're telling me you're just keeping him here to protect the planet?"

He understood what she meant, and looked away. "He's a Time Lord, Rose. I thought they were all dead. I thought _he_ was dead, and that I killed him. But he's not, and… I can't lose him again."

"Do you love him?" She probably sounded bitter. Because she was, because this was all going wrong and because it was him who had begged her to listen and now it was her who had to beg for answers, and she just wanted to know. She knew what it meant for him to find someone of his own species. She'd wanted him to feel less guilty, to allow himself a little forgiveness for what he'd had to do. But she didn't want it to be in the shape of a murderer, and she didn't want to feel like this. Like she'd been a substitute, a stand in for a role the original had since returned to, and now the Doctor was living their forever with somebody else.

"It's more complicated than that."

"Yeah, that's what he told me too."

"Did he?"

"He said it was too complicated for me to understand. Nice to know you feel the same."

"I didn't say that."

"No? Then why don't you explain, like you said you would?"

"I have explained."

"No, you haven't!"

"I'm sorry." His shoulders fell, head shaking in defeat. "It's not too complicated for you to understand. It's just… well, too complicated for _me_ to understand, I suppose."

She didn't really accept that, because no matter how confused he was, there was no way he was less confused than her. "When he was kissing you, you looked happy."

"Rose, you have no idea how lonely I've been since you left."

"Really?" She wasn't in the mood for this, though she couldn't deny she thawed a little beneath the words. She pocketed the sentiment away for later, if they ever got through this. "You think I haven't been lonely? Why do you think I came back? Doesn't mean I've been going around snogging every serial killer I can get my hands on."

"It's not like that! He was so different when we were young. He was brilliant-" He stopped abruptly and Rose was glad he did, because she wanted to hear this even less. "I just haven't given up on him."

"So you did love him? When you were young."

"Yes."

"And when we met? Did you still love him?"

"When we met I thought he was dead." It didn't answer her question. Or perhaps the omission was answer enough.

"But if he wasn't? Oh, never mind, I've already seen what happens when you know he isn't dead."

"I know. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"For what, Doctor? You meant it when you kissed him. So you can't say you regret that-"

"I regret making you think I don't…" The words were falling out his mouth but he stopped suddenly, choking them back. "For making you think I'd choose him over you."

"You wouldn't?"

"No. Never."

She softened under the earnestness of his declaration. "Alright. I still don't really understand what's going on here, but I suppose I accept your apology."

"Yeah?" He broke into a grin so dazzling that she couldn't help but mirror it.

"Yeah," she replied, and when he held out his arms she stepped gratefully into them. It was lovely to lie here, pressed against his chest, their argument sated. It was such a temporary sort of peace and she clung to it all the harder for its fragility. The future was as uncertain as ever and everything she'd thought would bring assurance seemed determined to betray her. Even her own room no longer felt safe. 

"What's gonna happen to us now?" she murmured into the comfort of the Doctor's shoulder. It felt the safest place to ask, here where it felt like nothing could hurt her so long as she didn't let go.

"I don't know," he whispered back, and squeezed her tighter.

"'S not like you…"

"We'll figure it out. Together."

"Together," she repeated, and the word tasted like honey in her mouth.

-

Initially, the Master had found it amusing to place himself in Rose's room after the Doctor had sent him away. He'd half expected them to come back here, which would have been a fun little punchline to the whole thing. They refused to accommodate him, however, so he sat in a silence that was growing more sullen by the second. Everything here felt like it really belonged to her, like she'd really lived here. Not just lived, of course, he knew that already, but integrated herself into the ship like an infection. The photo he'd smashed was bad enough, and further inspection revealed a whole album tucked into the corner of her wardrobe. Hundreds of photos. Hundreds of planets she'd visited with _him_. She had accessories and souvenirs from half a dozen cultures. She was a time traveller, the same type as the Doctor: idiotic romantics who really treasured the experience. He flicked through the album, distaste curling the corners of his mouth. He didn't think he had one single photo with the Doctor. Had never wanted one. But if they both died today, only one of them would have left such a physical mark. 

He threw the album back into the wardrobe and took to staring at the walls instead. The shade of pink was slightly infantile, slightly nauseating. It reached right up to the high ceiling and spread evenly across it. There was no way she'd painted it herself; the TARDIS must have done her decorating for her. Even after all her time away the room was fresh and clean and he swore he could smell perfume. He always had, ever since his first curious glance into the room the Doctor sometimes frequented and sometimes shied away from. It was as if, at any given moment, she'd just walked out a few seconds ago and would walk back in any time now. Pitiful, really.

The room provided for _him_ was perpetually dark and dingy, and felt like it got smaller sometimes for no particular reason. "I like it that way," he said aloud, as if the TARDIS cared, or believed a word he said. 

He pressed his foot into the broken glass still strewn across the floor, grinning as he heard the larger pieces shatter again. He pushed the shards further into the carpet with the ball of his foot and that, at least, brought him joy until he had to spend the next ten minutes picking slivers of glass from the grooves on the bottom of his shoe.

So this was it, he supposed. They were always torn away from each other, in the end, if one or both of them didn't pull away first. But they _hadn't_ this time; that was the unsettling thing about it. They'd found a sort of rhythm in coexistence. Not domesticity, not quite, not yet. But mutual understanding. Which he sometimes exploited, just to get on the Doctor's nerves, but it would truly be worrying if he didn't and _hell_ , the Doctor got on his nerves too. Perhaps that was what made it all bearable: a comforting dissatisfaction for him to fall back on. He wasn't enjoying life with the Doctor and he could _prove_ it, to no one but himself but that was all that mattered. The situation was not a choice and he could be certain that, if it ever became one, he knew what choice he'd make.

That time may well be now. His role in the Doctor's life had shifted over the past few hours and he found himself having to share his pedestal. He was no longer all the Doctor had and, really, that was what it had always been about. Captain Jack and Martha had lapped up all that bull about protecting the universe from him because they hadn't known, or hadn't quite appreciated, how desperately, awe-inspiringly lonely the Doctor was. It was easier for them to see this as a duty, he supposed, because _they_ were meant to be the Doctor's friends and how could he be lonely when he had them?

Rose Tyler was the same. Self absorbed. Arrogant. Spouting the same _save the Doctor_ bollocks. Meaningless. Temporary. _Human_. She could not offer him any sort of lasting solace- although he didn't intend to either, actually, but the Doctor could at least have the dignity to recognise that he _could_ , if he wanted to, and she could not. She couldn't offer intelligence, or excitement, or fear, or any of the things that the Doctor treasured about the Master. She was nothing special, and yet he couldn't seem to see that. The way he'd gazed into her eyes; the way he'd jumped to protect her like some romantic hero; the way he'd never fucking forgotten her even when she seemed forever lost. In a way, she'd always been there. The rotting apple in the barrel of their relationship, spoiling the rest. She'd been a ghost before, one only the Doctor could see. Easily dismissed with physical touches and hard kisses. 

And now she was here, and they were off somewhere, together, while he was alone in her room, an imposter in the space she'd filled night after night. He didn't know what to think. Didn't even know what made it so difficult, the thinking, because surely it should all fall into place rather nicely. They could drop the act now; the Doctor had what he thought he wanted and he'd be free to go and relapse into the ecstasy of conquering new worlds. It was all _very_ promising, and as close to his vague hopes as it was possible to get, considering that his desires were just as ambiguous as the Doctor's. He had his choice. 

Did he? A choice suggested two equally possible options, and the ability to decide for himself. The option to leave had certainly opened itself up, obvious and tempting. The option to stay was beginning to look rather remote and he suspected it may even be met with criticism. How could he stay on the same ship as her, after all? His record with the Doctor's other devotees was hardly exemplary. And he'd imprisoned her once already, within minutes of their first meeting. Their first meeting _had_ been the imprisonment, in fact. If she did stay- and it was looking likely that she would, because the Doctor could easily puppy-dog-eye his way out of the betrayal of their kiss- he'd be nothing but a danger to be disposed of as discreetly and safely as possible. For now, anyway. He knew he'd be back to torment and complete the Doctor, long after she'd died. He always was. But it was _now_ that was bothering him, because there was something belittling about the whole thing. If he left now it would not feel like liberation. Eviction, perhaps, would be a better word. He could always speed up the inevitable, indulge in the depravity they expected of him, and kill her now, but he expected it would achieve much the same result.

He did not want to leave the Doctor in this way, or any way that wasn't completely on his own terms. Perhaps, in the end, this was just another form of war, and there was nothing the Master loved more than victory. He could impose his will onto his companions until they bowed beneath it and along the way, he'd figure out exactly what it was he was trying to win. A new adversary was just another opportunity, after all. A gift, if he chose to make it one. _Having_ the Doctor was easy, mundane. It was _winning_ him that was fun, and he had done that over the past few months, even if the lines of who owned who were a little blurred. Now the turmoil was over, the fluctuation of their power struggle keeping neatly within silently established limits, and he longed for chaos again. Corrupting the Doctor all over again. Losing his grip was a necessary part of the process, because how can you feel the thrill of regaining something you've never lost? And he had an extra piece now, to move or sacrifice at will. So long as he just stayed on the board, the game would continue.

He could no longer smell the perfume. The ship's expression of her disapproval, presumably. He found it most encouraging.

-

Rose was sitting on a tall stool on the other side of the kitchen, fidgeting with the cup in her hands. She looked so natural there; her presence like a soft sigh as the room settled into what it was meant to be. The Doctor hadn't been here much since they'd been separated, preferring the impersonal, not-quite-homely kitchen that had shown up elsewhere in the ship. This had been _her_ place: her palace of kettles and chips, and being here without her felt incomplete. He alone wasn't enough to fill the space left by their laughter and companionship. Everything had been empty without her. Even him.

She took a quick sip of the tea he'd made. 

"How is it?"

"Perfect." Her smile was delightful, but fleeting and her thoughts seemed to close in on her again as soon as she broke eye contact. Her eyebrows furrowed. The cup twisted in her hold.

"You alright?" 

She glanced up again. "Yeah… Ish. Just can't stop thinking about how different everything is. I felt so lost, y'know, out there in space, in different universes… and I thought that once I got back here everything would make sense. But it's like I'm still falling- haven't quite made it home yet."

He felt his hearts clench viciously, guilt and discord caught in his veins. The guilt he was used to, because he seemed to trail fragments of misery- his own and others- behind him wherever he went, each choice he made leaving cruel splinters which poked through his skin. The discord he wasn't so well acquainted with, because they usually shared a grounding synchronicity. He wanted to find her hand in the fog of her disenchantment; to carry her back home. But he didn't quite know how to do that, because he was already home. It wasn't a journey they could make together; he was relegated to the sidelines, confined to whispers of encouragement. Wait for her to land. And he would, no matter how long it took.

"Coming home is sometimes harder than leaving. Things change quicker than you think. You change, too, and not always in the same way. But there'll always be a place for you here, Rose. You'll find it and… it may take time. But that's okay."

"Yeah… Guess it's a good thing we're in a time machine, then."

"It has its advantages." They smiled at each other and the Doctor thought that no matter what changed, this would always be home to him. Her smiling at him, and him smiling back.

It didn't last long. It couldn't, yet. With so much uncertainty clogging the air around them, even one constant was too much to hope for. 

"And the Master?" Rose asked, and the Doctor felt something within him crumple. It was all about him, in the end: the centerpiece all the cacophony orbited. "Is he staying?"

"I don't think so." His voice was calm, because this was nothing more than the verbal manifestation of the doubts and conflicts that had roiled within him every day since the Master had joined him. At first he'd made an effort to maintain the spirit of incarceration, with cuffs that would shock him if he wandered too far and the like. But the Doctor's desire to save the Master from harm had always overpowered the Master's desire to save himself, a fact which was known and fully exploited, and the Doctor found himself chasing the Master around more than anything. In the end, all that really served to confine the Master was convenience. He stayed with the Doctor, humouring him, simply because he had nowhere better to be at that particular moment. The Master's whims are the most volatile condition in the universe, and he knew it could never last for long. All he needed was a minor disturbance, and Rose had provided one more chaotic than he could ever have hoped for. "He doesn't like to share."

"Can you really let him go, just like that? Isn't he dangerous?"

Dangerous? Oh, yes. And the person most in danger was her. _He doesn't like to share._ They were the worst kind of conflict: a classic light against darkness affair. There was no compromise to be made there, no cohabitation. If he reached within the secret recesses of his mind, he'd find that he loved them both so much, for completely contradictory reasons. A way past his grief, and a way back through it, through to the other side. Rehabilitation and redemption. Light and darkness. Two sides of a coin, and a coin can only ever land on one side. 

"We can keep an eye on him. Now that I know he's alive." He didn't feel as confident as he sounded, but he would not upset her with the truth. She didn't need to be reminded of the brutality on the other side of the wall. "And besides, I don't think I stand much chance of stopping him, if he really wanted to leave. He's the most stubborn bastard I've ever met. Complained for weeks when I bought bread from the wrong planet."

Rose giggled, the tension sufficiently diffused. It was too late, and too confusing, to address the complexities of the situation right now. He needed time to think, to reminisce, to hope. To justify the decision he felt he'd already reached.

"I'm tired." Rose stood, stepping over to place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm gonna get some rest. It's been a long day."

"Yeah, alright. Goodnight, Rose." He swallowed, irrationally disappointed when the pressure of her touch left him. "I'm so happy you're back."

She paused for a moment, considering. "Yeah, me too." That brilliant grin crossed her face, and then she was gone. He downed the rest of his own tea and moved to follow her out. He stopped in the doorway, looking back into the empty room. This once, the silence felt comfortable.

-

The Master was waiting for him when he entered his room; he could hear the steady breathing before he even closed the door. It was not unexpected. Their lives had intertwined in ways that had at first seemed unpredictable, and now had become routine. There were days when they avoided each other completely, preferring the stoic solitude of echoing corridors to any sort of company, pleasant or otherwise. But there were also days, and nights- particularly nights- when they found that the comfort of each other's presence was a kinder sort of solitude. They could lie beside each other and feel alone, but not abandoned; their deep understanding of the other becoming an extension of the self. Words were unnecessary.

He stepped towards the Master's calm, defined figure, little more than a silhouette in the dim light, a shadow come to life. The darkness painted itself across his face with an artistry only light is capable of, shaping the inherent cruelty there into something soft and vulnerable. It was here, like this, when the Master was made beautiful by being hidden, that the Doctor knew just how precious he was to him. He ran his hand gently over the other Time Lord's hair, watching his head tilt upwards to accommodate his touch. Their eyes met. No words. The Master's slim fingers caught his other hand, clasping it close to his mouth as he gazed up at him with such earnestness in his eyes that the Doctor felt he had no choice but to look away. The edges of the room had melted into this artificial night. The grip on his hands became tighter as the Master dragged himself up into a standing position. He felt his body connect with his in infinitely subtle ways. The nudging of their feet against each other felt incidental. Neither was responsible. Neither was to blame. They sought each other out subconsciously. The Master's fingers coaxed his attention back with a light caress on his cheek. His eyes wandered back reluctantly, his gaze anchoring itself to the dark pools of shadow where the Master's eyes should be. He lost himself in the tiny glint of light he found there. Their fingers were still entwined, their slow heartbeats synchronised. The Master's lips were so close to his, brushing against him once: so soft it was almost imperceptible, so fleeting it was almost accidental. It was the Doctor who turned it into a kiss.

It was the last night they'd ever spend together- or, failing that, the last night they'd spend together in these bodies- or, failing _that_ , the last night of this act in the epic of their lives. Nuances aside, there was a grave finality to that kiss, and it surged within the Doctor like fire. He knew he'd lose the Master, and there was such luxury in that: the _knowing_. He was aware, of course, that he'd lose Rose and everyone else he'd ever loved, and it made him shy away from them, so terribly afraid of getting burnt. Yet as the Master's body moved against his, he realised that what he didn't take now, he'd never have. When a thousand potential future tragedies condensed into one absolute certainty, the future no longer mattered. All they had was tonight, and what they made of it. The Doctor allowed himself to indulge in the pain and the loss, and it made the Master's touch exquisite.

The kiss became more forceful, the Master's ferocity lingering on the edge of demanding and desperate. The Doctor no longer knew whether he was giving or taking. He didn't care. All he was doing was losing himself, and he was doing it well.

-

The Master did not always leave afterwards. He did not tonight. Light had long since deserted them, but the shift of sheets across the Doctor's back reminded him of his presence in the bed behind him. He didn't bother turning; he would not have been able to see anything and this felt less personal anyway, even if it made no real difference. Coldness was what he needed right now. 

"I know you won't stay," he whispered into the darkness. He didn't know quite what he wanted. Confirmation, probably, which he didn't _quite_ want because he really didn't enjoy the necessity of losing the Master, but the thought of not getting it terrified him. There was no right way out of this, but he'd wandered recklessly in anyway; he always did. He needed whatever this would lead to. He needed to know. His voice was meek, his words more so. Framing his own demand as the acceptance of a demand the Master had not yet made seemed far more fruitful. He knew how the Master's mind worked; how to defeat him by giving in.

"I won't? Why ever not?" His voice was muffled by sleep, though it did not hide the condescension. The Doctor regretted this midnight discussion already. The lilt of confusion and cunning in the Master's tone was an invitation, and he did not want to go.

"Because you can't." 

"Do you want me to stay?" 

"No." 

He heard the rustle of sheets and felt himself tilt backwards as the Master's shuffling towards him caused the bed to dip. He felt breath on the back of his neck, and the next word was whispered right into his ear. "Liar." 

He wasn't, actually. There were any number of more complicated questions the Master could have asked which would have required him to lie, or admit uncomfortable truths. But this, without traps or nuance, barely skimming the surface of his thoughts and motivations, was easy. That was good. He needed easy right now. Everything was so confusing, so out of reach; if he didn't have easy he'd have nothing at all.

"Just leave before I wake up." He ignored the accusation. He had nothing to prove. "The TARDIS will let you go."

"You don't trust me with the girl." Cold fingers drew a flinch from him as they traced circles on his upper back. His breath shook a little as the Master's thumb slipped beneath his shirt, his attentiveness disturbingly gentle. "Have you forgotten why you locked me up here in the first place? Time was, you were protecting the whole universe from me," he murmured, the sleep gone completely from his voice. Warm and cruel and enchanting. "And now the universe can fend for itself, hm? Could it be that our sanctimonious doctor is nothing more than a hypocritical bastard after all?" He kissed the Doctor's skin: still tender, still kind. His lips felt like forgiveness. "Don't worry, Doctor. You don't have nearly as much control as you think you do. Nothing that happens will be your fault."

He drew away from the hypnotising ministrations at that. If it hadn't been a threat, it had been the suggestion of one. He didn't want their last night together to be like this: pretences and hints and insincerities. "You won't find her." The TARDIS would see to that, he knew. "Don't even try. Just go." 

"Well, don't be like _that_. Look at us. Lying in bed together. You've never had me like this before. I've never had you like this before. Come on Doctor, why don't we enjoy it a little longer?"

"I'm giving you a choice." He was determined to be unrelenting. Unfeeling. He knew what he was giving up and he knew what he was gaining and there really was no need to discuss it further: neither with the Master nor himself. "Take it."

"And if I make the wrong choice?" He was close again, his warmth all-encompassing, his hand resting on the Doctor's side. The stroke of his thumb was infuriatingly comforting.

"Then the choice will no longer be yours to make." Plainly speaking the subtle implications. He refused to hide in the same unspoken understanding. It was too intimate.

"I see." He flexed his fingers, his hand finding its way beneath his shirt and wandering across his chest. His body touched the Doctor's back, the contact light, so light that he could have squirmed away from it easily. Teeth grazed his ear. "And there's nothing I can do to change your mind?"

"No."

"What if I promised _really_ hard not to hurt her?" The edges of his nails left dents in the tender skin above the Doctor's left heart.

He tensed, feeling his shoulder blades press further into the Master's chest. He hated this. Temptation. Deception. The inability to distinguish. A choice motivated by fear, not reason. "I wouldn't believe you."

"Ah, you're a hard man to please, Doctor."

"And you're not exactly famed for keeping promises."

"Why should I, if there aren't consequences? But if I broke this promise, what would you do? Kill me? I don't want that." He wouldn't kill him. He didn't think anything could drive him to that. Only a despair so deep and hopeless it drowned out everything he was and everything he wanted, and he didn't want to think about that. He would never forgive him though; he knew that. He also knew that the Master was so very accomplished in breaking his limits, thoughtlessly brushing over every line he adamantly drew in the sand, stepping over it with a quizzical _what now_ expression on his face and the Doctor would have to sigh and resign and redraw the line a little further along, and see the Master's footsteps approaching before he'd even lifted the stick. This was different. He knew that in a way he didn't know anything else. The Master had crossed every single line he'd ever set, and yet none of his cruelty had even come close to the thoroughness of the devastation that had shattered him in the few seconds between Rose's hands slipping from the lever and Pete catching her. He was still picking up the pieces. If the Master killed Rose it would become all there was. One moment overshadowing centuries of history together. And when they met again, the blanket of devotion and kinship would not protect him and then, perhaps, the Doctor did not know what he would do.

"It's not enough."

"It's all I can offer. You're not really working with me here." He was chiding him, which really didn't feel fair, especially after his patient self-assuredness earlier. But the only way to escape this position of inferiority would be to fight back, and betraying his own resolution would not exactly be empowering either, so he accepted it. "Now, I don't like Rose. I think she's weak, and irritating and I certainly wouldn't intervene if she were to get captured. But she's human, and she'll die soon enough without my help and, quite frankly, all the shit you'd give me if I hurt her wouldn't be worth it. So I swear, I won't lay a finger on her and if I do, you have my full permission to cut it off, or do whatever you want with me. Happy now?"

He didn't want to respond, even internally. He wanted a brick wall of a mind where he could settle into the corner of his own certainty and ignore the faint thrumming of persuasion outside. Didn't it sound good, though?

"You make things so hard for yourself." Sympathy was not a welcome development, because the Master was making him feel like he needed it. Maybe he did need it. "You don't always have to choose. You can have it all. I can give you everything you want."

"You have no idea what I want," he snapped. The Master always seemed to know things about him, and sometimes that made them true. And sometimes he was just wrong, but he'd never accept that. He didn't want what the Master made him want. Putting his needs into the hands of his oldest friend without expecting their manipulation by those clever fingers would be plain old naivety, and he was past that now.

"Then tell me. I'll take you at your word," he began, and then added, in a frustrating reminder that he _did_ usually know exactly what the Doctor was thinking: "Even if I don't believe you."

The instruction corrupted his passivity; he could be an active participant in his own salvation or destruction- his choice which- and even silence would be a choice this time, in the favour of destruction.

"I want…" he swallowed, letting himself pierce the surface of the thoughts he'd tried all night to leave well alone. Just one step would get him lost, or overwhelmed. "I want her to be safe. And I want you to be safe. I just want to stop worrying about everything all the time. I don't want to fight myself…" He listed everything as it flickered past, his voice monotone, trying not to register what it all meant. He hated peeling himself apart like this. He couldn't even blame the Master; he'd accepted the invitation to do it himself. "I don't want to have to choose."

"I can give you that." He sounded so _sure_. No choice but to believe him. And the Doctor really did want to. Desperation over reason. He kept getting worse, didn't he?

"And what's in it for you?" One last hopeless bid. Making this less about him; shifting to a subject he didn't know so damn little about.

"You are." There was amusement in his voice, and sincerity. And the Doctor just couldn't stop believing him.

"Alright. _Fine_." He caved in, and he couldn't quite tell who the sigh of relief hanging in the air belonged to. "We'll work something out tomorrow. But if you've lied to me, I will never forgive you for it." It was said more for his own peace of mind than any hope of intimidation. A last, pathetic attempt at control.

"I _know_. That's the whole point." The hand left his skin, and lips briefly returned to the back of his neck. "Goodnight, Doctor."

"Goodnight, Master." 

-

So, that was one half of his mission over and done with, at least. The Doctor had been reluctant, still clinging to all the wrong ideas, but he'd inevitably fallen into place. He always did. The Master knew exactly how to twist him, bending his mind back over itself until he eventually coincided with whatever the Master thought was right, and then he could gently pull the breaks on their hectic ride. There was still Rose though, the loose wheel on the wagon, capable of dislodging the entire carefully constructed apparatus of the Doctor's mind. She was not predictable; not even in the predictably-unpredictable way in which he and the Doctor operated. Humans didn't tend to stray far from the norm though, and that was all she was, really, once you stripped away the pedestal the Doctor had placed her on to let her fall. He could deal with her.

In a perversion of the Doctor's original plan, it had been he who had woken up alone, the sheets beside him ruffled but empty. The dull brown suit which seemed perpetually sown onto the Doctor's skin was no longer scattered in a careless pile at the foot of his bed. He got dressed in silence and padded down to the kitchen. The tray of eggs was full and he cracked one into a pan, thought for a second, then added another. He set down the plates, let the toaster do its work, served up the meal and sat down to eat. He was only on his third bite when she appeared, charmingly vulnerable in her tired haze and pink dressing gown. 

Her face creased with irritation as her eyes fell on him. Not who she'd expected to see, he supposed. She turned to leave, but he was not going to let her do that. They had business together, and he wanted to get it over with as painlessly and _privately_ as possible, before her and the Doctor's misgivings had time to bleed into each other.

"Good morning Rose," he grinned amicably at her and she glanced back, confused by his sudden change of spirit. He didn't explain himself; all he needed was her attention, not the satisfaction of her curiosity.

"Where's the Doctor?" She took a step into the room. Storming off then would have been impolite and childish, and returning his greeting would have suggested naivety. He thought she'd struck a nice balance. 

"Messing about in the console room, I expect. I haven't seen him since last night." He didn't know if she'd catch his implication or not. Perhaps it was better if she didn't; it would sour the mood and ruin this chance at reconciliation, and he didn't know how many chances he had left. Still, he couldn't resist. He waved at the chair across from him as a distraction and an invitation. "Sit down, I've made you some breakfast."

"What?" She stared at the plate of eggs and toast; clearly an obstacle she hadn't prepared a proper defense against. 

"We're going to be living together from now on. May as well get on with each other." He spoke matter-of-factly, neither suggestion nor threat in his voice. She did not really know him. He had no reputation, aside from the most-likely-vague warnings of the Doctor, to bolster him up, and none to lead her astray. She had no reason not to believe him. Yesterday had been nothing more than one bad day, if that was what he made it.

"We are _not_ living together."

"Alright, alright," He held his hands up, taking care not to be _too_ patronising. "But we are both going to live on the TARDIS. Unless you'd like to leave, of course." He gestured to the chair again. "Sit down. I won't bite. Ever." He continued eating, not looking directly at her. The table was large enough, and the angles awkward enough, that if he did move to attack her she'd have ample time to get away, standing or sitting. Perhaps she realised that too because she dragged the chair out from under the table and sat down. She didn't tuck it back beneath the table, though. "I mean that. I made a promise to the Doctor that I wouldn't hurt you, and I intend to keep it."

"Well, as long as the Doctor trusts you…" Sarcasm laced her tongue and she raised her eyebrows, looking away. A shame, really. She was missing all the sincerity he was taking great pains to pour into his expression.

"I'd like to come to an agreement with you too," he admitted leisurely. He needed this, he really did, if only to placate the Doctor. He wanted her to hope that he meant it, but not trust his words wholeheartedly. The distinction was important; he did not want to seem dependent on her approval. She must be caught between doubt and surrender- though veering on the side of surrender- and the ambiguity was where he hid. "That's why we're here."

"And why the hell would I do that?" She met his eyes, and he furrowed his eyebrows in a particularly expressive show of earnestness, before relaxing them and leaning back in his chair. Her question could not be answered by kindness, because that would stray too close to weakness and besides, she would suspect that this was all a mockery- as he told himself it was- if he was too forthcoming.

"Do you have any other choice?" he sneered, the hints of a smirk touching the corners of his mouth.

"Well, I must do, or you wouldn't be askin' this at all," she retorted, and he shrunk beneath the truth of the observation. Perhaps sometimes it hurt to be so in control all the time: relying on her for _anything_ was bound to arouse suspicion. She should not realise, as he had just now, that it was he who had no other choice. He smoothed over his defeat, allowing his smile to grow and prove to her that the silence following her words had been his _choice_ , and not something imposed on him by circumstance or uncertainty.

"What is it you want then? War? You can't have that. You can't have a one-sided war, and I refuse to fight you." He shook his head a little. He'd never weaponised pacifism before. The moral high ground turned out to be quite comfortable. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't want a war," she snapped. Appearing less righteous than the Master was something none of the Doctor's friends could stand. In trying to exceed him she'd ended up stepping closer. 

"There, you see. We understand each other. Now, I won't kill you and you won't try to kill me, alright?" Put in those terms, she could hardly refuse, and yet she seemed infuriatingly unwilling to _accept_ either. It was no longer a question of real emotions and complications; just the drama of life and death, which was so much easier to deal with. She wasn't agreeing to his complete integration into her life- at least, she didn't realise it- merely acknowledging what they both already knew: that she would not kill him. She glared at him, searching his face, and he tried to show her what she wanted to see. He needed her to trust him just enough to get them through the next few days, until the Doctor got so used to their new situation that he neither questioned nor fretted over it. It all hinged on the Doctor. The Doctor and him. All he was doing with Rose was humouring her own sense of self-importance. She chewed her lip, melting from animosity to uncertainty. She really did not want war. She'd give in. If he gave her a little nudge. Let her think she was taking things into her own hands. "Unless you'd like something else?"

She lifted a piece of toast and took one small bite, chewing slowly. He gave her time. After a few seconds she swallowed and looked back up at him. "Yeah, actually. Stay out of my room."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor decides to take Rose and the Master on a trip, and it's nice. It's normal. Peaceful, which is what Rose needs. But with the Master involved, it would be naive to assume it would stay that way for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe so it took me a little longer to write this than I thought. It was getting a bit long so part 2 of this chapter will be published later. Thank you so so much to all the people who supported the last chapter. You gave me so much motivation. 
> 
> I've tried to edit this but I was really tired at the time ngl so I can't promise perfection but it should be fine.

The next few days were confusing, to say the least. Rose found herself trying to analyse everything; a vice which may have yielded some results, had there actually been anything going on. A sort of apathy had settled over the pathways of the TARDIS, trampled into the floor with each step of three people whose paths rarely completely converged. She didn't think she'd even _seen_ the Master for the past two days and, when she did, he flitted past as if she was no longer worth even acknowledging. He did not make her breakfast again. Their conversations- if you could call them that- were cordial, if a little snippy, and she could tell that he, at least, had what he wanted. The TARDIS was big enough to create what were almost separate worlds for the two of them to pretend they were alone in. The Doctor split his time between them, she thought. He'd be beside her, filling her mind with so much enthusiasm and wide eyed, garbled jargon that it felt so very much like home, and a few hours later he'd be gone and she couldn't quite keep herself from wondering where.

If they'd all been together, scrambled into a frustrating mess of human and Time Lord, she would have been irritated and homesick, probably, and then she would have gotten used to it. By now, life on the TARDIS would have felt like an inferior version of what it once was, but it would have felt _real_. She would be okay with that, she supposed, because it would be better than pretending everything was still the same. It wasn't, she knew; she had moved past the denial stage by now, but the rest of the ship- Doctor included- had snagged on something on the way out, and now they were all caught. She couldn't settle into this new life when she had no idea what it looked like, and the ambiguity kept her constantly on edge. 

It wasn't the Doctor's fault, as such, though she did suspect he was a little too comfortable with this situation. To him, he was saving them all the conflict that preceded closure. And she was no stranger to that. Long, long ago she had shared the TARDIS with a man she no longer loved, watching him across the console while she laughed with the Doctor, and she had _known_ how he must have felt, but had deliberately turned away. She hadn't wanted to break up with Mickey. She wanted to be broken up, but didn't want to actually go through it. It would have been too real, too gritty; she had wanted to float off into the fairytale of space travel without worrying about those petty human grievances. Mickey had paid the price. Now it was her turn.

She would talk to the Doctor about it soon, she promised, just as soon as she figured out what to say… What was it she wanted, after all? To see more of the Master? A laughable thought, really, and one that sounded too close to regrettable to utter aloud just yet.

"You alright, Rose?"

"What? Oh-" The Doctor had just swung himself into the room, hanging off the doorframe like a limpet. He gazed eagerly at her, eyes made larger still by the glasses that framed them. "Yeah, fine."

"Brilliant! Come here, I've got an idea."

She smiled wearily, holding out a hand for him to drag her along with and they arrived, punctual but breathless, in the console room. The Master was there already, draped across her chair again. He raised a lazy hand in greeting, and she nodded back, the omnipresent peculiarity of their life once again drifting over her. 

"Here, have a look at this." The Doctor rolled the monitor over to her, and she peered down at the planet pictured, a mesh of yellow and blue, surrounded by clusters of equally incomprehensible Gallifreyan.

"Right… So, what exactly does any of this mean?"

The Master sighed behind her, condescending as ever, and she thought it very likely that her worries about not spending enough time with him had been completely unfounded. "Here, let me have a look." Grasping fingers took the screen from her, and he nodded briefly in understanding. "Ah. Domum 3. I was there once."

"And it's still there?" Rose muttered. He glanced over at her, the corner of his mouth tilting into a smile.

"I don't destroy every planet I set foot on, you know."

"Oh, just mine, then." 

"Well, not exclusively. But that's certainly one example!" 

"Oh, _stop it_!" The Doctor interrupted the most substantial conversation they'd had since agreeing to coexist. "This is why I think you two need to get out of the house for a while. Look," he pointed adamantly at a pretty, but meaningless swirl. "Such a fascinating little place. Once a year, there's a celebration of freedom, right across the planet. Everyone puts their fancy clothes on and goes out to dance and get drunk. You'd love it, Rose."

"Would make a nice change," she mused. "Don't know the last time I was on a planet that didn't want to kill me."

"Well, this is your first trip after getting back. Why not make it a good one?"

"Alright," she smiled up at him. They hadn't usually spent so much time drifting in the TARDIS between adventures. Perhaps they had been waiting for it all to smooth itself out, unaware that the stagnation was part of what kept them motionless. If this excursion changed anything, that could only be a good thing. "We'll go to the celebration."

"Oh, joy," the Master interjected.

"You could always stay behind," Rose glared at him. 

"Oh no, he's coming with us." The Doctor's tone invited no argument, though Rose expected this was the only thing she and the Master could ever agree on. Then his stern eyes relaxed. "Come on, Master. You do love strutting around in a suit." He lay a hand loosely on his shoulder, earning himself an exaggerated scowl. Rose flinched, glancing away from this moment of casual intimacy in which she played no part. This was exactly what they weren't letting her get used to, with all the secrecy and segregation, and each time she _was_ exposed to it, it felt like plunging her head into a vat of cold water, again and again, because the warmth of the Doctor's sole attention never let her acclimatise to the temperature.

They ate together, for once. Perhaps the Doctor was afraid that if he let the Master slink off now, it would be weeks before he reemerged. They managed to get through the sandwiches with minimal sarcasm before the Doctor ushered them to the winding majesty of the TARDIS wardrobe with an infectious joviality. Rose let her hand weave between the fine lace and velvet and couldn't help but feel excitement slip into her veins. This was rich and easy and just plain _fun_. It had been too long; she missed this aspect of time travel. The thrill of discovery and the experiences that had nothing to do with laser guns or desperation. The Doctor guided her towards dresses that would be very much in fashion at the time they were going to- and _yes_ , he would check and double check that he'd got it right, and _no_ they would not end up in 1950s Britain- and she picked something lush and red that made her feel practically royal. The Doctor had, in the spirit of the moment, traded his familiar suit for another, almost identical suit. This one was black, though, and she was secretly thrilled to see that the red lining on the inside of the blazer matched her dress, as if they were made for each other. It was silly and sentimental, and she'd missed that, too.

"Well, don't you two look lovely," the Master remarked dryly and Rose glanced at him over her shoulder, though, strangely, even he could not ruin this. Or at least not so easily.

"Not looking too bad yourself," she replied with equal insincerity, though in all honesty there really was something inexplicably dashing about him at that moment. It was the suit, really: sharp and long- almost, but not quite, to the point of being comical- with a high collar. It would have made a handsome silhouette, if she couldn't see who it was. "Bit… Dracula, though, isn't it?"

The Master frowned. "Who?"

-

They stepped- some more reluctantly than others- out from the TARDIS into a scene of sunshine and revelry. Colours bombarded them from every angle, a jarring but welcome contrast to the softer, somber tones of the TARDIS's interior. It has been a while since Rose had felt the sun on her face like this, and longer still since she had had the chance to really bask in it. This would be a good day. The Doctor's hand slipped into hers and she squeezed it absentmindedly as they joined the throngs of people strolling across the green or admiring souvenirs in stalls which bloomed everywhere like flowers.

"Here we are!" The Doctor beamed. "Domum 3. The forty-fifth annual planetary Celebration of Freedom. And we're right in the centre of it…" He turned Rose to face the opposite direction, and pointed- though there was really no need- at the marvel that towered over them. It was, in essence, a palace, with the same spires and finery as palaces back on Earth. And yet, it dominated the landscape to an extent Rose had never seen before, becoming practically a city unto itself. A home for giants, but on a human scale. Row upon row of windows stretched upwards and outwards, as far as the eye could see, the charming grey stone facade vanishing over the horizon. It looked grand and imposing and slightly ridiculous, and _of course_ the Doctor's eyes were positivity alight with wonder.

"How big do you reckon that is?"

"God… As big as London? Gotta be."

"Oh, at least! And the whole place, with the gardens and the grounds and everything?"

"Dunno…" She glanced around but couldn't see any borders separating the neat hedgerows from the rolling meadows and forests they evolved into. 

"150 million square miles!" He looked so excited, so at home in this babble of trivia, and Rose thought it possibly the most attractive thing she'd ever seen.

"But that would be about…"

"The whole planet? Precisely! It's all one big house." He turned to the Master who had not deigned to partake in their awe. "This here when you were here?"

"Probably." He glanced up from the clump of dirt he'd been so attentively kicking around. "Wasn't all that interested in sightseeing."

"It is easy to miss," Rose muttered, and the Doctor grinned.

"Well, you've got plenty of time to look around now." He held out his other hand, eventually just grabbing the Master's when he didn't offer it up voluntarily. "Allons'y!" 

They lurched into the crowd as one disjointed form, the Doctor at the helm. Rose struggled to keep pace as they navigated the scene with no apparent destination in mind. "Where're we going first then, Doctor?"

"Let's see, shall we?" He turned to the owner of the nearest stall, a man with an inviting smile and the largest collection of decorative wooden spoons Rose had ever seen. "Hello! I'm the Doctor. This is my friend Rose and this is-"

"Harry Saxon," the Master offered. Rose squinted across at him. Of course, if his name had been hers, she'd use an alias too. She just hadn't expected such consideration from him. 

"Yes, ah, anyway, we were wondering what you'd recommend to tourists like us?" 

"First time at the celebration?"

"That's right!"

"Oh, there's all sorts," he gestured vaguely. "Sailing down by the river, archery, Theatre 586 is putting on a lovely performance, I've heard. Or there's a dance going on in Hall 429, for the lady." 

"Hall… what?"

"Just through there." He pointed to one of countless entrances jutting out from the facade. 

"Thank you!" The Doctor grinned warmly before turning his gaze to Rose, eyes twinkling. "Well, what would the lady like?"

She rolled her eyes. "Dancing does sound nice…"

"Right then. Hope I've still got it."

"Oh, for Rassilon's sake," the Master broke away, taking a step backwards. "There's no way I'm going to stand around watching you two flirt. Besides, I'm hungry."

"You just ate."

He sighed, eyebrows raised. "Didn't you want me to get out and enjoy myself? I want to experience the local cuisine. Immerse myself in the culture. Plus, I'm hungry. You go on, I'll catch up with you." 

"Alright, fine. But stay out of trouble." 

"Yes, Doctor, I'm sure there's infinite untapped military potential I could use to stage an uprising. Somewhere amongst all that grass… Really, I'm just going to get some finger food. The planet will survive." 

The Doctor shook his head wearily as the other Time Lord slipped into the melee. "I'll see you soon."

Rose watched him leave, her eyebrows furrowed into a slight frown. He seemed different today, somehow. When they first met, she had to admit she'd been afraid of him. She had felt that a certain wariness would always cling to him. But in the bright light of day, watching his disgruntled figure slink away, he seemed more petulant than anything else. Hardly the aura of a man who had taken Earth to the brink of destruction. That said, she had not been there, and still did not know exactly what had happened in her absence. If there was something that powerful in him: something dangerous beyond threats and ambiguity, she hoped she would never have to see it. "Will he be okay?" Or, rather, will everyone else?

"Yeah… He's right, there's not much he can do right now. Except sulk, I suppose, but he could do that with us. A little freedom might be good for him. It is the whole point of the celebration, after all…" He paused, glancing away before his eyes found hers again. "We weren't flirting, were we?"

"Maybe just a little," Rose shrugged. 

"Oh, well then..." he trailed off, ending the sentence with a winning smile instead of actual words, and led her into the building.

The interior rivalled the exterior in terms of grandeur, with intricate plaster designs adorning each corner. Rose's eyes grazed across the finery, and she wondered exactly whose house it was she stood in. The place was the pinnacle of wealth, and from the little she'd seen of the atmosphere outside, seemed to be revered by the locals. And the Doctor, for that matter. She didn't quite know how to feel about that.

"Who does all this belong to?"

"The people! The whole planet does, really." Well, that was a relief. "Didn't always, of course." Rose got the feeling she was about to learn some history. "It was originally built by a wealthy aristocrat- _very_ wealthy, I'd imagine- from a nearby world. Intelligent life hadn't developed yet, and they took advantage. Claimed the whole planet; created this place. It was the fashion at the time, hence Domum 1 and 2. Those didn't last long, but here… The family moved out eventually, but the servants they brought… They found a home here. People fell in love, and started families and the population grew, over the centuries. Course, it's still nothing like Earth. Most of the planet is uninhabited, in reality. But to think it all started with a few families stepping onto an unfamiliar planet, and deciding to make a life here... There were no tourists back then, of course."

"Sounds lonely."

"Yes, it must have been..." 

"So the people took control when the aristocrats left?"

"Oh, it's never that easy. They had to get through a few civil wars first, and a dictatorship or two. But they got rid of the last one almost half a century ago now, and they've been celebrating ever since."

"Everyone seems so happy now."

"I think they've got a good thing going here. Nothing's perfect, but it's close enough." He pushed the doors to Hall 429 open, revealing a scene not unlike those in the period dramas Rose had watched as a child, waiting for Jackie to get home from work. Rows of dancers formed perfect patterns, flowing effortlessly between and around each other. The Doctor held his hand out. "Shall we?"

She felt suddenly self conscious. "I'm not sure how…"

"Just follow everyone else. It's what I do." He smiled, fingers wiggling in invitation. "You'll be great. Trust me."

She couldn't resist, of course. It was nice, twirling across the polished floor like that. All that mattered was the Doctor's hand in hers, and where she put her feet. It was freeing; she was free, and _yes_ , this was what she had come back for. Before she knew it the song was over, but it wasn't long before another began. And another after that.

They were too deep into the building for windows to give any indication of the passage of time, and having fun does tend to distort time far more efficiently than the TARDIS could. Perhaps they would leave soon. There was so much left to see, after all. She was sitting at the edge of the hall, a little weary but not enough to curb the exhilaration still racing through her. The Doctor dropped into the chair opposite her, placing a drink on the table. 

"How're you feeling?"

"Tired." She took a grateful sip. "But good. Brilliant, actually."

"I knew you'd have fun," he nodded. "Just like old times."

"Yeah…" Now wasn't the time to unravel all the complexity that comment came with. She focussed on the drink instead.

"What do you think, then? One last dance?"

"I'd love to."

He led her back onto the dance floor, spinning her in time with the music pouring from the orchestra. At one point, her heart flew into her mouth as he tilted her backwards in a typically reckless movement, but he caught her. Of course he did. 

They followed the others as they spread out, fingers parting to swap partners. The Doctor was whirled away by someone else and Rose turned, lifting her arms to meet the hands of the stranger behind her. Or, perhaps, not a stranger at all. Despite the polite inclination of his head, her first instinct was to pull away. The Master's hand tightened a little around hers; not much, not enough to be rough, or even necessarily intentional, but she could feel his usual air of command in his touch. She sighed, letting him lead her. His presence was not inherently harmful.

"Didn't think you were a fan of the dancin'."

"I'm not," he wrinkled his nose. "Not like this, anyway. I actually came here to get you."

"What?" Her eyes narrowed, and she felt like they were spinning together a little faster than they should be.

"You see, Rose, there's going to be quite a bit of commotion in a minute or so, and I don't want you getting trampled." He smiled ruefully. "The Doctor's lectures are bad enough as it is. So I'm going to be leaving you with a friend of mine. Keep you out of the way."

"What? What friend?" She tried to pull her hands away, but he let go of his own accord, sending her stumbling backwards. Right into a pair of muscular arms.

Something pressed into the side of her head, and a gruff voice spoke from above her. "One word, and you're dead."

The Master growled in frustration. "No, she _isn't_. Your job is to keep her alive; that's the whole _point_!" He pressed his hand to his forehead. "Put the bloody gun down. Just put your hand over her mouth or something."

"Right, uh, sorry Master." He may not have been the most attentive of henchmen, but he was certainly strong, and no amount of struggling seemed to do any good. His grip was too firm; the leather of his glove too deep to get her teeth into. She could see the Doctor across the room, painfully oblivious. The desperate pleading of her eyes did not reach him. He did not even turn as the Master sauntered onto the raised dais at the end of the hall, though his attention- along with everyone else's- was admittedly caught when he began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" he began, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "This is your lord and master speaking. I'm sure you've all missed me terribly. It has been 45 years since I last stood in front of you all; to the day, in fact. And what a warm welcome I have received upon my return! All these festivities in my honour… Such a shame to put an end to it."

Responses from the gathered crowd were somewhat mixed. An indecipherable hum of voices washed over them as they moved restlessly- though did not try to escape. Some were exasperated at the interruption; some showed hints of curiosity. A few, generally older than the rest, looked terrified to the point of petrification. A solitary glass shattered on the floor. 

In the simmering unrest, the Doctor had slipped from view. She searched frantically, her range of vision severely reduced by the hand holding her head in place. When she did find him, it did more harm than good. He was twisting around, obviously searching for her too, and the mirror of his desperation dragged her heart right down to the pit of her stomach. He did not see her.

"This planet," he raised both hands, gesturing like a depraved conductor. "Is a disappointment. Without me, you have stagnated. I expected to have to put up some sort of fight when I returned, but look at you all! There is no purpose to any of your lives; no ambition; no _power_. But for those who choose to join me, I promise you the power that has been denied to you. Now, I was moved to discover that those who were loyal to me then are loyal to me still. In fact, guards, if you would…"

Black-clad figures appeared like insects pouring from a crack in the wall, infesting the revellers with yells and brandished weapons. The Doctor was no longer looking for her; his eyes were fixed on the Master and his mouth was open, shouting something she could not hear above the sudden eruption of chaos. She turned her gaze on the Master, scalding him with a furious glare that was sure to go unnoticed. He was staring directly at her. His left hand made a little flicking gesture and she found herself lifted into the air by her faceless captor. Feet kicked into empty air; the pitiful scream she was now able to create was drowned by countless others. Without ceremony or consideration, she was dragged from the room.

The next surface she touched- or was dumped onto- was the harsh stone floor of a cell. She yelped at the jolt through her bones, feeling the silk of her perfect dress tear beneath her. A key creaked in a rusty lock which had obviously not seen recent use, and she blinked upwards to see the guard retreating towards a square of flickering light set into the wall at the end of the line of cells. The door slammed shut behind him, entombing her with only the slanted rays coming through the narrow, barred window which crawled just beneath the ceiling of her prison. 

On tiptoes she could just about see out, though the sight did little to raise her spirits. The merry stalls and lush gardens had been abandoned but not dismantled, lending a surreal, haunted feeling to the scene. No hope of rescue would come from there.

The bulky stones of the wall were rough against her back as she collapsed against it, her head falling into her hands. It was a terrifying turn of events, but on top of that it was _frustrating_. Trouble regularly seemed to follow them, or they regularly managed to find it. But this time they'd actively brought it with them: taken its hand and then willingly sent it off to gather its forces. And she had been so congenially reassured that this would _not_ happen. Now her dress was torn, and her hip was bruised from the fall, and the air was cold, and escape looked more and more distant by the second. If the Master was as secure in his authority as he thought he was, the whole planet was crumbling apart, and if the TARDIS had not landed then none of this would have to happen. Well, she supposed, she was not living in a forgery of her old life anymore. 

Over the next hour, the cells around her began to fill up with hunched, disillusioned figures. All that separated them were lines of iron bars, but no one seemed eager to make contact. What could she say, anyway? They would be able to tell she did not share the hope she wanted to spread. Even the promise of the Doctor failed to excite her. She trusted him implicitly, of course, and yet… The Master was still unexplored territory to her, and she couldn't be sure he'd react with the same relentless antagonism that had saved them from other enemies. All she could do was wait, and seethe.

The sun was casting longer shadows by the time the door of her cell was forced open again, hinges screaming. Her new cellmate was a disheveled woman, perhaps a year or two younger than Rose. Another stoic guard pushed her forward, his grip harsh on her shoulders. 

"Stop it!" Rose marched towards him. Melancholy heads turned in their direction. "You're hurtin' her!"

The guard's sullen eyes flickered over to her. "Shut it! You're lucky the Master's got a soft spot for you because otherwise…" His face screwed up into a smug grimace at the threat before he lost interest, shoving the girl unceremoniously into the cell with her. 

Rose caught her before she hit the ground. "Hey, you're alright," she soothed, gently rubbing her back. "You're okay, I've got you. You're safe." The girl in her arms shrugged, reaching up to wipe furiously at the tears coating her cheeks. "I'm Rose. What's your name?"

"Eva..."

"Alright Eva, listen to me. I'm going to get us out of here, okay? I'll protect you." She wasn't sure exactly how she would make good on that promise, but brute stubbornness had to count for something, and she was nothing if not stubborn when it came to helping others.

"I just… I don't understand what's happening. I was walking with my friends, and this man took them away… Then someone came for me. This can't be real, can it? None of it makes sense. They're saying the Master's back, but he can't be. That's all in the past."

"What do you know about the Master?"

"Just what they told us in school. He used to rule the world, back when my parents were young. But everything's better now. He's gone."

 _He was_ , Rose thought. _Until we brought him back_. She was, in an unfortunate, indirect way, responsible, and she took that responsibility seriously. 

Suddenly, Eva tensed up, her tear-stained face taking on a new shade of panic. "What did he mean when he said the Master has a soft spot for you?" She shifted away. "Are you one of them?"

"No, I'm not! It's just…" She didn't exactly want to say that they'd been travelling together up till now. It would not help her cause. "The Master and I have a mutual friend. And he promised him he wouldn't hurt me. Great job he's done of it so far…" She rubbed at the sore spot where the guard had dropped her. "I think he told his men to take care of me. They probably don't know what it's all about either."

"Oh…" She seemed convinced, though she still kept her distance. "So he's really back?" 

"Yes. I'm sorry, but yes. But he won't take control again. I won't let him. I have this friend, he's called the Doctor, and he's stopped him before." That's not all he's done with him, but again, that wasn't exactly cheering information, so she kept quiet about it.

"What's he going to do?"

"Well, he's…" Rose sighed. "I don't know yet. I have to find him first. But he'll have a plan."

"He's not here." Eva's voice was saturated with misery. "You don't even know where he is."

"No…" she was forced to admit. She bit her lip. This was all going wrong.

"You said you'd protect me. Will you?" 

"Yes! I won't let them hurt you."

"How? What are you gonna do?"

Rose frowned, her thoughts racing. Most of them were gloomy, but she didn't have the luxury of hopelessness. The Master had somehow taken control, the Doctor was god-knows-where, and all she could reliably count on was herself. These people needed her. "I'm going to get you out of here. All of you. And then I'll find the Doctor… or the Master, and I'll sort this out. But first I'm getting you to safety."

"Really?" Her face had taken up a _I'll believe it when I see it_ frown. In that case, that was what would happen.

"Just watch me."

A few cells over, another body slumped to the floor. The guard locked the door behind him, then turned to leave.

"Hey, you! Guard!" Rose called, her face pressed between a gap in the bars. She did not sound quite as confident as she would have liked. 

He shifted a little, showing no inclination towards coming closer. "What do you want?"

"I, uh, I want to see the Master."

"Forget it."

"He'll want to see me. Didn't he tell you about me?" The guard responded with a bored looking frown, and Rose swallowed nervously. "You can pass on the message if you like. I don't have to see him in person. He'll want to hear this."

"Alright…" He strolled over, planting himself a few feet from the bars. "Let's hear it."

"Come a little closer. Do you really want me shouting the Master's secrets for all these people to hear?"

A worried expression crossed his face, and _finally_ , Rose remembered what hope felt like. He took one step closer. It was enough. Her hand darted between the bars, closing around the gun at his waist. It slipped from the holster in one satisfying jerk and by the time he was able to retaliate, the barrel was pointed directly at his chest.

"Right! Hands in the air! Don't try anything, or I'll shoot." Fury tore through his face as he obeyed, hands shaking. "Against the wall. Good. Now the keys. Toss them over. _Slowly_! Thank you. Eva?" 

She hurried over to them, fiddling with the lock until it clicked open. "Got it!"

"Brilliant. Open the others too. And you…" She kept the gun trained on the guard as she stepped cautiously out after her. "Get in. Right to the back. Good. Okay. Eva, lock the door please." 

His glare was intense, and Rose was glad for the protection of the bars. "The Master will kill you for this."

"No, he won't."

He huffed, knowing the truth in that. His eyes flashed with discomfort, and there was a curious slump to his shoulders. "Well, he might kill me." 

Rose lowered the gun slightly. Whether he was serious or not, no amount of trickery can turn locks, so she could afford a little sympathy. "He won't do that either. I won't let you out, if that's what you want, but I'm not about to just let you die."

"Yeah, good luck with that."

This was not something to get entangled in right now. However far the Master's victimising went, it was those who had been imprisoned who were her priority. "Everyone alright? Can you all walk?" 

"Yeah," the man from the cell beside her replied. "We'll make it. Thanks to you."

"Don't thank me yet. We still have to get out." She turned to Eva. "Is this everyone? Are there other cells anywhere?"

"Yeah, think so. Don't know where though."

"I do," the man said grimly. "I remember from last time."

"Let's go, then."

"No. I'll do it. You focus on getting everyone else out of here. Keep them safe."

"You're sure?" She could see the logic to it. Of course, she wouldn't be able to stay safe herself. She needed to find the Doctor. But that could wait. They had to come first. And if they did encounter the Master, she may be the best shield they had.

"Yes."

"Right. Uh, take this." She placed the gun in his hand. "Oh, and if you meet someone called the Doctor, tell him I'm looking for him. Tell him to find Rose."

"Rose… Yes, I will." His smile was thin and forced, but his eyes crinkled kindly.

She returned the faint smile. Inside she was all twisted up. If he didn't make it... If _any_ of them didn't make it, she would never forgive herself. She may have to leave the TARDIS entirely. That was a wound she was unwilling to reopen, but it was recent and the scar over it had barely formed. Perhaps she had been a fool to think that this could ever work. No, she hadn't known. Now she did. And she would not make the same mistake again. 

He opened the door first, leading with the gun in case they had unwanted company on the other side. The corridor was empty, though it was a perilous sort of emptiness. Always seconds from being disturbed. Rose exhaled shakily as she ushered them out, every nerve alight. 

"This is where we part ways," the man said, voice hushed and gruff, and she could tell that beneath the paternal assuredness he was just as scared as her. "The exit's along there." His hand closed briefly around hers. "Thank you, Rose. And good luck."

"Yeah, and you," she nodded, lips pressed tightly together. 

They set off in a single file, shaking line. This was the worst bit: this cramped corridor with no convenient crevices to slip into unobserved, and no easy way to turn back. She didn't even have the gun as insurance anymore. All she had to protect herself, if it really came down to it, was the Master's promise, and she couldn't stand that. Her life in that man's hands, balanced on his whims. She did not trust him to keep to his promise, though she had a little more confidence in the fear he inspired in the guards, and their determination to obey him. So long as they stayed out of his direct path, they might be alright. How peculiarly things had turned out.

"Which way?" She turned to Eva once they emerged into a branched hallway. "You know this place better than me."

"Never been here specifically before, but if I had to guess…" She chewed on her lip. "I'd say turn left."

"Left it is then." 

They hurried along, taking a few more uncertain turns. Unseen, possibly imagined eyes followed each step they took. So far they had encountered no one. _At least if we get lost forever in here_ , she thought sardonically, _we'll lose any pursuers too_.

She pushed a door open to find a wide staircase leading upwards. The good news was that they had left the dark, dungeony part of the house, and returned to upper class sublimity. The _better_ news was that they now faced the first window she had seen since her cell. That had to be a good thing. 

"Almost there," she muttered, trying to encourage herself just as much as the others. The bad news, to continue that trend, was that hers was not the only voice they heard. Footsteps echoed above them, urgent and impossibly close. 

"Shit, get back," she managed to yell, but not before the other group had turned the corner to stand at the top of the stairs.

She realised now that the gun would not have done any good. A row of the Master's puppets blocked their way; a row of shining barrels prodded towards them. Heading the pack was the puppet master himself. 

"I should have known," he sneered. "I was informed of a breakout, but I hadn't guessed that it was _you_. What a pity. I had been so looking forward to making an example out of the troublemaker. None of my subservients have put up much of a fight so far. Quite disheartening, you know. Conquest without a little blood is no conquest at all."

 _If it's a fight you want, I can give you that._ Rose bit back the retort. There was too much at stake for quips. 

"Although, I suppose you have brought me a lovely little gift. Come here, Rose." He stuck a hand out, and she could have laughed because he looked so goddamn sure she'd take it. He tilted his head, muttering to the men behind him. "Once she's out of the way, fire at will."

"Get behind me. All of ya!" So it had come to this. A war narrowed down to a single room. It was ridiculous, the way everything hinged on how much the Master was willing to risk. He had held out this long. She had to assume he would continue to do so. There was really no other choice. She swallowed, trying to look sure of herself. "Alright, we're leaving now." She shifted, trying to cover as much of the group as she could as they shuffled back towards the door.

"Fine by me," he shrugged, unimpressed. His shoes clattered as he leapt down a step towards her. "We'll just follow. Make a chase out of it." Another step. The guards did not follow yet. 

Rose exhaled. He was right, of course. She'd have to protect them every step of the way outside, and who knows which way that even was? She couldn't do it. She couldn't protect them like that. But she could still protect them.

"You've gotta get them out of here, alright?" she whispered. Eva nodded. "I'll hold off the Master for as long as I can."

"I won't let you down." 

Rose made eye contact with the Master again. He was only a step away now, practically on top of her. She thought vaguely that she had not considered _how_ , exactly, she would hold him off. Then instinct kicked in, and she punched him in the face.

"There," she gasped, veins suddenly alive with adrenaline. "There's your blood."

His tongue flicked across his lips, teasing the point where her fist had broken the skin. "You really need to stop doing that," he said absently, before her back hit the wall. He held her in place with one arm, more cautious than violent, really. Keeping her out of the way, even now. His eyes left hers as he frowned at his soldiers. "Well? Get after them!" 

"No!" She shoved him with all her strength, as his hand wrapped around her arm to drag them both down together. It was hardly the ideal position, lying on top of _the Master_ like this, but their entangled bodies did serve their purpose: the guards hung awkwardly back, unsure whether to interfere or step over them and somehow getting caught in the nothingness between the two. "You won't get them. You won't win. I won't let you!"

"Well, how _noble_ of you," he grimaced, twisting so they rolled down to the next step, and really, she should have been satisfied with the way things were before because being _beneath_ the Master was infinitely worse. "Really putting the Doctor to shame, aren't you?" He gripped her wrists, pinning her hands uselessly above her head. Hissing, she kicked out at him until they were once again sent tumbling down together. "You know, Rose," he glared up at her. "You made the same promise as me. I've gone to great lengths to keep you safe, and you attack me the second you get the chance! Doesn't seem fair." 

"What? This is self defense!" His hands had fallen from her wrists in the struggle and, finding herself granted this small freedom, she instinctively closed hers around his.

"Punching me in the face unprovoked is self defense?" 

"Yeah, because a line of guns isn't provocation at all!" 

"Oh, come on, you know they weren't meant for you."

"Well, that makes it alright then." She shook her head, more focused on this petty battle of words than the actual physicality of their fight. At least she was succeeding in holding him off- or holding him _down_. Eva and the rest would be long gone by now. "Seriously, did you think I'd just stand by and watch you kill all my friends?"

"Ideally, yes." He flashed a grin and then, in a move that was obviously stolen from her, used his legs to dislodge her. The stairs and ceiling blended as she spun, becoming one streak of confused white. Then, a brief flash of red as pain erupted in the back of her head. And then black.

-

The Master knelt beside her prone body; his hearts thudded uncomfortably, and he could feel the colour draining from his own face as it did from hers. If he had killed her, the Doctor would not believe that it had been an accident. Hasty fingers pushed at the soft skin of her neck, and he exhaled an audible sigh of relief as her pulse fluttered reassuringly beneath them. 

His makeshift soldiers remained infuriatingly stationary, watching the two of them in bewilderment. "Fucking go!" he snapped, gesturing at the door his prisoners had escaped through. "Find them, and lock them up properly this time." They scampered nervously away, their incoordination blatantly showing to anyone who bothered to pay attention. So inexperienced. Just disciples of his disciples, really. Kids who wanted a little extra pocket money; a little more respect. Those who had heard of his last stay on this planet, and decided which side they would rather be on. Against an organised military force, they'd be little more than human shields, but they sufficed for these snivelling, dolled-up civilians. And taking control so effortlessly made him feel powerful, which was the important thing. Months on the TARDIS, months in the Doctor's arms had dulled him, and this little interlude had revived him. Who cares if it all came crumbling down? The point had been made.

"Well then," he sighed, brushing a stray strand of hair from Rose's face because it felt condescending, and that felt good, even if she couldn't appreciate it. "What am I going to do with you?" A quick inspection revealed that her fragile little skull was intact, though his hand came away coated in blood. _There. There's your blood_. He grinned. 

They were alone now; the house felt eerily quiet. Perhaps he should have kept one or two guards behind, for protection, though realistically there was nothing he actually needed protection from. Weakness oozed from the very stones he stood on, saturating everything. Power really was there for the taking, and no one would fight him for it. Well, no one except her. 

"Come on then. Let's get you to a doctor." He hooked his arms beneath her, his hands momentarily lost in the layers of now-tattered silk. Her head fell limply against his shoulder, and he frowned at the blood stain on this lovely new suit. Oh, what he went through for the Doctor. "Not the one you're hoping for, I'm afraid."

The hospital on this floor wasn't too far, but his arms ached by the time he got there, and he may have deposited Rose a little more carelessly than necessary.

"Doctor? I have a patient for you." 

An old man emerged from behind a screen, his eyes not leaving the Master as he tottered over. "What did you do to this one?" 

"Nothing. It was an accident, this time. Just fix her up, will you? I don't have all day." 

"Yes, Master." He rolled her over, peering down to get a better look at the back of her head. "She'll need stitches."

"Whatever," he waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, and keep her asleep for a while longer." 

The doctor got to work, and the Master's eyes followed him closely. He trusted the man's medical expertise, though his history with the man himself was a little more complicated. He had been much younger last time, of course. A prodigy of sorts. Promoted to the Master's personal doctor in a matter of weeks. He had fussed over him, taken care of his every need, and then gone behind his back and betrayed him. The conniving bastard had been even cleverer than he had given him credit for: he had developed a drug to perfectly mimic death. And the Master, in his endless generosity, had allowed the population to maintain their tradition of sending their dead off to be buried on the species' homeworld. By the time he uncovered the scheme, he doubted those morbid hearse-ships held any real corpses at all. Well, that's what he got for showing sympathy. He had ordered his execution immediately, and had looked down smugly upon his dead body. This must be one of those things that becomes funny with time because, looking back, he really _should_ have realised what was going on. It was so obvious; he had to laugh. The penny had dropped eventually though, when he bumped into him again a few weeks later. But the timing of that had been unfortunate, as he was rather preoccupied with being usurped at the time, and it had been time-consuming enough putting him to death the first time. 

Ah, well. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and he could have it in spades now, if he wanted. Although, frustratingly, the good doctor was all he had at the moment. All the others had less nuanced morals, and were on strike- or rather, in chains- and it was the only hospital he knew of in this section of the house. He wasn't even meant to be doing medical work anymore, but he had been flitting around when the Master and his men had visited earlier, and had been the only one to submit to his rule. Ah well, he could always kill his old friend when he had served his purpose. The Master smiled thoughtfully. He could never manage a straightforward relationship with a doctor, could he? 

"You've changed your face again," he remarked, looking up from his work.

"Oh, yes…" the Master mused. "Good, isn't it? I look rather dashing. Can pull off a suit brilliantly." 

"Yes Master. You look very fine today."

He hummed, admiring his reflection in the glass of the cabinet. "Bit Dracula, I've been told. Any idea who that is?"

"No, Master." His deep set eyes bored into him. "Do you need any care yourself?"

"What? Oh-" He touched his lip again, hissing at the slight sting. "No, I'm fine. Just get on with it."

"Of course, Master." He bent his head to his work. "Who is she, if I might inquire?"

"Bloody nuisance, is all. A stone in my shoe." 

"An enemy of yours?"

"Yeah." Who wasn't, these days?

"I see…" He glanced up, a sly look in his eyes. "I hope you do not intend to make an example of her. Not after I came out of retirement for her."

"I won't. But if I did, I wouldn't come to you."

"Your memory is sharp as ever, I see." The old man's face crinkled into a grin. "I'm finished here. She won't wake for a while." 

"Good." He hoisted her into his arms again. If only there was some way to contact his men. Why should he do all the physical labour himself? It wasn't entirely without its problems, this accelerated revolution. If he had really been serious, he would have put a lot more thought into the preparations. Several months worth of work condensed into a few hours... Because life on the TARDIS could be so damn boring sometimes. And the coincidence was just too hilarious to ignore. The Doctor taking him on a trip to a planet he'd once ruled. He was just too eager to please, and the Master's followers were just too tired of being socially ostracised for their actions 45 years ago. It all fit together so perfectly; when would he next get an opportunity like this? It was worth the sore shoulders from hauling the girl around. 

He did not quite know what to do with her. A private cell would be best, like the Doctor. She couldn't be trusted with his other prisoners; she had made that quite clear. He had to admit he had underestimated her. Well, she was harmless enough now. Unconscious in his arms. The biggest danger she posed now was getting misplaced. Although, his promise to the Doctor had only included physical violence. He could hardly be blamed for losing her. If the Doctor cared about keeping track of his companions, he wouldn't have brought them to a place where a single corridor could lead you miles astray. 

The cells were rather far; too far, really. And she didn't exactly require maximum security in the state she was in. Even a secure cupboard would suffice. He kicked open the nearest door to reveal an anonymous little office, with a line of desks, a low sofa and a mural depicting- of all things- roses. Plus, the door could be locked from the outside. It would do, for the moment. A more permanent solution could be found later. He laid her down on the sofa, rearranging her arms when one hand fell to the floor. She would be alright, wouldn't she? The knock on her head hadn't been _that_ bad. Humans were frail, but they were so bloody _persistent_ too. Yes, he thought as he locked the door, she'd undoubtedly be back to bother him again. Thank god.

-

"Here's another one." The guard threw another pitiful body onto the polished floor of the ballroom turned makeshift headquarters. The Master's latest victim struggled to his knees, eyes blazing with an obsolete fury. It would do him no good. What could he do here, surrounded by kinsmen who had turned against him? "Caught him trying to slip through gate 7." 

"Well, well, well." The Master leaned incrementally forwards, sighing as he prepared to reel off the same spiel as he had countless times over the past hour. Even domination could get tedious in excess. This man was no different to all the other escaped prisoners who had tramped through his throne room on their way back to the dungeons. He would exude the same quiet resentment, shed the same shameful tears, battle between comfort through betrayal and pride in captivity, and eventually err on the side of pride. Fools, all of them. He did not treat his subjects badly. Ah, well. Better get this over with. "I don't take kindly to dissent, but I'll give you one last chance to save yourself and join my ranks." He tapped his fingers together. "What is it you do, then?"

He was greeted with the usual stubborn silence. One flick of his right hand, and the guard dutifully kicked the escapee in the stomach. The man slumped over, his body convulsing, before he was dragged to his feet by a large hand clenching his jaw. "Answer him," the guard snarled, face inches from his prey, and shoved him to the floor again. The Master was jealous; he seemed to be having much more fun than he was.

"I'm a baker," the man spat, voice weak but so amusingly defiant. "And if you-"

"Oh, in that case, I don't care. But if you want to swear allegiance and all that, go ahead. If not, get lost." 

"You won't win," he gasped, and the Master grinned. He'd knocked out the last person who told him that. Not deliberately, admittedly, and it had rather upset up actually, but that was beside the point. "Rose will stop you!"

"What?" This was new. His face twisted into a scowl. "Rose _Tyler_? She's already my prisoner."

The man seemed unperturbed. "She will rescue us."

"I don't think she will. I think you're going to rot in a cell for the rest of your life, and when you're on the edge of starvation, you'll realise that no one is coming to save you." The guard was gazing at him, seeking permission for further violence. The Master ignored him. "Take him away." 

"What was all that about?" He turned to the man on his right once they were alone. Lord Husk- though he'd been officially stripped of the title long ago, of course- was a man he had raised to the very heights of affluence many years ago in return for his unwavering loyalty, and he had not disappointed. Even after 45 years of strife and reparations, that loyalty had not faded. The preparations he had made for the eventuality of the Master's return were still intact, and when he'd approached him earlier today, he had provided him with everything he needed. 

"I'm afraid I don't quite know, Master. I assume he is speaking of the girl from earlier?"

"Yes. And she's nothing." He had sent someone to collect her from the office earlier. She was snug and completely isolated in a cell of her own now. "It was probably a coincidence she was caught up in the escape at all. She's _nothing_."

"Then we have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, I suppose. Oh, have you caught her little posse yet?"

He bowed his head. "No, Master. We think they ran further into the house. We don't want to spread our forces too thinly."

"I understand." He clenched his jaw. They both realised the fragility of his position. The throne was just for show; they controlled at most a quarter of the house and practically none of the planet as a whole. They didn't think the population was capable of true resistance just yet, but it wouldn't be entirely unexpected. This may not last long at all. Ah well, he was damned if he wasn't going to make the most of it while he could. "Keep looking anyway."

"Yes, Master."

The line of recaptured prisoners did not stop flowing, which was satisfying to behold. One or two even turned traitor and bowed to him. He'd love for the Doctor to see that. Or Rose. Perhaps they could have a little reunion later, and he'd tell them all about it.

The one thing which really was starting to get on his nerves- aside from the monotony, of course- was the way Rose's name just kept coming up. These people seemed enthralled with her, although the only people who had actually _met_ her stayed infuriatingly out of his grasp. Except one: the man who had been in charge of setting everyone else free, and he hadn't so much as mentioned her. But the others clung to her as if she was some sort of god and, really, if _anyone_ had that privilege, it should be him.

After the seventh or eighth time it happened, he snapped. "Lord Husk? Bring me the man who organised the escape."

The man they dragged before him was a sorry sight, though looking at his face you'd think he didn't know it. The bruising colouring his chest from his previous interrogation did not show in the defiant set of his jaw; in the eyes which did not avoid the Master's. He hated seeing his enemies like that. 

"It seems I'm lucky I didn't have you put to death," he began. "Though I'm not sure I can say the same for you. You can either tell me everything I want to know, or I'll stop going so easy on you. Choose wisely." 

His cracked lips formed a thin smile. "What is it you want to know?"

"Tell me about Rose."

"Ah, so you've heard of her."

"Of course I've heard of her." _I bloody_ live _with her, for Rassilon's sake_. "She's nothing special."

"No, she's not," he nodded. The Master's eyebrows rose. That was one thing they could agree on, at least. Though being agreed with was not nearly as gratifying as it should have been; he could tell that the man was just toying with him. That could not be allowed. "Not inherently. She's just an ordinary girl. But she was the first to stand up to you. And other ordinary people followed. All she is is a good person. That's what I told everyone I rescued. That she was _good_." He paused. "I may have laid it on a little thick. In times like this, people need a figurehead." 

" _That's_ your genius plan?" A smile tugged at the corner of the Master's lips. This was manageable. They need not have worried at all. "Tell them someone else is gonna rescue them, so they just need to sit tight and wait? You're doing my job for me. You do realise Rose is my prisoner? And this time she'll stay that way."

"All people need is hope. I gave them that."

"Then they'll die hopeful," he shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me."

"Hopeless people don't act. I saw that for myself, in the dungeons today and 45 years ago. I saw it in myself. But I am no longer hopeless, and neither are they. Now we have a chance. You will see."

"You're a fool." The hint of a smile bloomed into a full-fledged grin. "Although, you aren't wrong; I'll give you that. But telling me was so, so stupid."

"There is nothing you can do. What has been heard cannot be unheard."

"We'll see. Hopelessness _is_ pathetic, you're right. Wonderful, isn't it? Though there's always the concern that they will find some cause to rally around, and that really could be dangerous. No, it's far better to give them a cause, and take it away again. Lost hope is far more debilitating than not having it in the first place, I find. And look at you! You've just gone and dropped the opportunity at my feet." 

He stood in tight-lipped silence. Either he understood, or he was too proud to ask. It didn't matter. He had played his part already, and played it well. Oh, this was just _perfect_. He needed to work with his enemies more often. 

"If you were going to give them something- just _one_ thing- to pin their hopes on, you should have chosen something far less fragile than a human girl. Because now it is so very simple. All I have to do is show them that Rose Tyler is dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I finally managed to find a bit of plot, huh? Still not sure how long the whole thing will be, but I'll wrap this particular bit up in the next chapter. And there will be more talking and stuff. 
> 
> On an unrelated note, I'm so tempted to write a rosemaster gothic vampire au thingy. Someone stop me.

**Author's Note:**

> So uhhhh I don't 100% know where all this is going. I have lots of ideas but I haven't started the other chapters yet. I'll try and make it make as much sense as possible though and I'll update it... sometime? Probably won't be long before my Rose Tyler- obsessed brain convinces me to stay up all night writing the next chapter.


End file.
